Protect or Fight
by You'll Never Take Our Griffisu
Summary: Post-Eclipse kinkfic set in the vague future: Guts makes a deal with the devil to help Casca be free. Eventual non-con and S&M warnings. Griffith/Guts, Casca/Farnese, Sonia/Schierke. This chapter: at last, those warnings come in handy. Guts/Griffith.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Protect or Fight  
**Rating:** Eventual NC-17  
**Pairings:** implied Guts/Casca, eventual Guts/Griffith, Casca/Farnese, Farnese/Serpico, Sonia/Schierke, and possibly Casca/Farnese/Serpico if I manage to do what I intend  
**Warnings:** Non-con, S&M, I'll probably self-censor any truly explicit scenes and only post the smutty versions on livejournal, but the themes will all still be here. If slash, femslash, incest, BDSM, and especially sexual slavery are not your bag, turn back now.  
**Author's Notes: **This is completely ridiculous, completely gratuitous kinkfic I'm writing because I'm desperate for some post-Eclipse Guts/Griffith porn, and because I have a big master/slave kink. I feel the need to disclaim that the sexual politics that will eventually be presented in this fic are NOT OKAY, not the route to a happy ending or anything even approaching it, and you shouldn't find them remotely realistic; I know I don't. I do, however, find them pretty hot, and as one of my primary reasons for reading fanfiction is to feel exactly that way, it is nevertheless my pleasure to bring this unrealistic, sexually problematic fic into existence. On that note...

* * *

It was supposed to be the end, the final battle, his last ditch effort at avenging the murder of thousands and the rape of one who was worth more than the whole world put together. Casca was supposed to be safe, safe and miracle of miracles _happy_, in Elfhelm where they restored her mind and by her own request did not restore her memory, millions of miles away from the chaos and carnage Guts was slowly slicing his way through to get to _him_.

When he'd last seen her she'd been curled up by Farnese's side, night-dark cheek rubbing contentedly against sunshine hair, and he'd thought to himself _this could be enough_. But then she noticed him and her eyes had flashed with fear before she'd caught herself and pasted on the placid smile he knew was meant to soothe but truly only made him ache, and he thought of another placid smile and the one who had first put that fear in her eyes, of a boy speaking dreamily of friends and equals and a man with the same dreamy voice saying "I sacrifice" and "I'm finally free". He thought of the corpses of their comrades and a sky full of blood, of eyes and voice and heart screaming, of a body worthy of angels drenched in demon seed and cast aside like old garbage…and Guts knew with caustic, choking certainty that nothing would ever be enough as long as _he_ still walked the earth.

And so he'd stolen away in the night like a thief, knowing that the letter he'd left Schierke detailing all the reasons she and the others should not follow him would not be enough unless he put so much distance between them she didn't have a choice, and though when Puck had appeared over his shoulder three hours out he knew he'd be grateful for the help, he still planned to find some way to be rid of him before the final battle.

Because yes, he was one man, and yes, without the armor's power or Schierke's help or Puck's dust he was hardly a match for the soldiers and spellcasters and trolls upon demons upon monsters that would litter his path on the way to Griffith, but he was sick of getting other people involved in his and Griffith's mess, sick of watching the disaster that followed him everywhere deface beings still beautiful with the glow of hope, and even annoying little pipsqueak elves didn't deserve to get caught in the crossfire of his berserker rage when he went into the armor one last time.

And now that time had come. The days had turned into months as he singlehandedly cut his way through the enemy's forces, cut his way all the way through creatures 10 times his size without a thought for his improbable survival because he had only one thing to focus on, and that one thing was now standing in front of him, finally, FINALLY!, the only thing between them, between Guts and his long-sought revenge, the impregnable mountain that was Nosferatu Zodd.

But just as he let the armor start to close over him, let himself fall into that darkness because this was it, this was the last fight and he couldn't risk losing, not now, not after coming this far…just as his victory was so close if he licked his lips he was sure he could taste it...just when all his desperate struggling had at last come to fruition….just then, the man, the hawk, the beast, that devil in angel's armor, _GRIFFITH!, _waved Zodd aside and looked straight at Guts and _smiled_.

Without knowing what he was doing Guts surged back out towards the light, surged back out of his best and worst weapon before it could take him over completely, because yes Griffith was right there and yes this should be the moment he had been waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting for, but somehow that smile told him it wasn't, told him something was very very wrong, so he let that wrong push him back human before he got lost in something inescapable and what should be his hard-won revenge turned to shit.

And that was when he saw her, held taut by thirty different hands, some of them human and some of them most decidedly not, her, the woman who was supposed to be warm and loved and protected a billion miles away, Casca, or Casca-who-was-not-Casca, for it was obvious that now, out of Elfhelm, she'd already returned to a babbling broken doll, and _how did he do it why did he do it why would he do it if not to oh fuck oh hell oh please, please no it's happening again again again again…_

When hundreds of maybe-demon-maybe-human hands wrapped around him and his sword and his canon and carried him after Griffith as he lead them, still smiling, some place deep and dark and away from the bewildered eyes of his devoted followers, Guts didn't even have the energy to struggle.

* * *

"You've made quite the mess of my troops, Guts, and only you and that sword. I was wrong to underestimate you."

They were in some sort of dungeon chamber, uncannily reminiscent of where Griffith - the other Griffith, their Griffith - had been held and tortured for a full year, and if Guts wasn't practically spitting with rage and despair he might have wondered if it was intentional.

"So torture me, Griffith, kill me, do whatever you gotta do. But if you fucking touch a hair on her head I swear I'll haunt your ass from beyond the - "

"Kill you?" Griffith's quiet laugh was too painfully identical to the sound of another time; Guts wanted to close his ears to it. "If you haven't died by now, it's certainly not my task to end a life that has so defied fate. I do need to protect my troops, though. I was wondering if you'd be interested in a truce?"

The cold glee dancing behind Griffith's eyes made it obvious to Guts just what he meant by "truce", and somehow knowing how soundly defeated he'd become in a matter of head-spinning minutes wasn't as shocking as it should have been. It was incredibly infuriating though. Griffith always did like to play dirty, and if Guts had just let go of his silly notion of revenge on a foe more powerful than he'd ever be in three lifetimes, Casca wouldn't be mindless and in danger yet a-fucking-gain…

He could almost laugh. After fighting and fighting and fighting and refusing to let himself consider failing for even an instant, it was kind of a mindfuck to experience such an immediate and total sense of surrender…but it was Casca, and he knew what Griffith was capable of, so it wasn't like he had much of a choice. "I get it, alright, I fucking get it. I can't fight you anymore. Just leave her out of this, okay? I'll do whatever you want to prove you've won, cut off my other arm, stand here and let that motherfucker Zodd slice my head off, you name it. But she's got nothing to do with this, she never has, and even if she did you already hurt her enough for a hundred vengeful devil-gods. I know you're the one holding all the cards here, I know you ain't got a shred of human emotion left, but from a logistical standpoint there's no reason to hurt her again, so…so don't, Griffith." _Please._

Griffith chuckled.

Guts did not like the sound of that chuckle.

"Is that your only demand?"

"Huh?"

"Our truce. Your only demand is that Casca remain unhurt?"

"She's already been hurt, you asshole, you took her outside of Elfhelm and your demon minions destroyed her mind all over again…"

"If you agree to my terms, not only will she be taken back to Elfhelm immediately and escorted inside by a very talented young medium who can surely assist in the restoration of her mind and memory, but I will instruct my so-called 'demon minions' to resist the lure of the brand from this moment on, which will allow her to enter and leave that place as she pleases."

"You…ha…wha-what?"

"I'm sure you heard me."

"You're gonna protect her from the brand? The brand you put on her? Why would you do something like that? You havin' regrets or something?"

"Regrets? Whatever for? I'm simply offering you something you want to get what I want. That's how negotiations work, Guts."

_Don't play dumb, you twisted bastard, you know exactly "whatever for". Can't even pretend what you did to her was part of some big scheme to get where you are now, 'cause I saw how you looked when you fucked her, and you looked_ happy. _You _liked _raping the girl whose only crime was loving a sick fuck like you more than he ever deserved…_

But even the ever-present rage swirling through Guts because of all that Griffith had done was temporarily muted at the thought of a Casca safer and happier, _freer_ than she'd been in decades. Nothing could ever replace what was lost, and nothing could ever redeem Griffith from the monster he'd become, but Guts was desperate enough to take what he could get and full protection from the brand was more than he'd ever hoped for.

"What…what do you want, then."

If it _wasn't _his death, Guts was good and stumped. Surely Griffith knew making him join his army or some shit - leaving Guts alone with weapons anywhere in Griffith's immediate proximity - was profoundly stupid…

"Oh, it's very simple: I want you under my command again." And, as if reading Guts' thoughts - "Don't misunderstand me: if you agree to these terms you will not be serving me as a combatant; indeed, you will never fight again. Should you ever disobey me after you accept, let alone threaten my life or seriously wound me, Casca will be immediately retrieved from wherever she is and torn apart slowly in front of you," - a new wave of disgust and despair had overtaken Guts, and Griffith, _Griffith _could be telling him the time for all that he seemed to notice the words coming out of his own mouth - "but nonetheless it seems prudent to refrain from giving you any more temptation to act out your foolish notion of enmity than you already have. In other words: Today will be the last day you ever touch a sword, Guts."

"If I accept."

"Do you not accept?" The face Griffith pulled then, one so young and full of bewilderment, could have been ripped straight off the head of the 17-year-old leader of a mercenary band, for how familiar it was. Guts would almost think he was being offered the harmless truce of a lifetime ago if it weren't for the dark glint in those no-longer-innocent eyes and the cruel twist of those mockingly capricious lips.

The subtle reminders of who he was dealing with put Guts back on guard, and he remembered what had just been promised if he accepted…and if he refused. _You don't have a choice, he's made that abundantly clear. You owe it to Casca…come on…just go along with the crazy mass murdering demon freak…_

"Uh, no, I do, I…I accep…I…" _Nope, can't do it. I swear I'll make it up to you, Casca. _"Okay, listen Griffith. You know and I know I ain't got a choice and I'm eventually gonna have to say yes. But before I do, can you just explain one thing to me?"

Griffith made no move to start 'tearing Casca apart in front of him', and simply continued staring at him inscrutably; Guts took that as a yes.

"How the hell'll I be of any use to you if I'm not fighting? You gonna make me clean your kingly quarters and serve your tea? Fluff your pillows or something? I just don't get it. You could easily kill me, or cut me up to keep me out of commission if you really think murder'd be going against fate. Why bother bringing this Casca shit into everything if you're just gonna turn me into your errand boy or whatever?"

"That was more than one thing, Guts. Rather presumptuous of you, too, to conclude so easily that if I don't want you to fight I must be in need of some ornery middle-aged butler who wants me dead."

"Yeah, well I just want to know what the fuck you _are_ in need of! You're right: if I were in your place, you WOULD be dead already, so from my perspective, all this blackmail and doom-and-gloom shit to manipulate me into something so frivolous seems awfully excessive for a pragmatic guy like you…"

Now Griffith was smiling again. _Uh-oh._

"Either you truly are hoping for an easy death - which does remind me, if you ever attempt suicide or try to put yourself 'out of commission' on your own power, the consequences will be identical to any other form of disobedience, even if you're no longer alive to witness them - did you just _growl_, Guts? My, my."

Guts growled again, but Griffith didn't seem to find it interesting enough to acknowledge this time.

"Or, you're hoping if you do enough attention-deflecting and flattery, you'll successfully convince me to give you a sword after all…mmm, or perhaps convince me to leave Casca out of our negotiations altogether."

Guts growled a third time. Griffith's smile stretched wider, like it was saying _Gotcha!._

"Regretfully, none of those wishes can be fulfilled. The conditions are what they are. Now, shall I call Sonia in to bring Casca home, or shall I tell Zodd to begin ripping her limbs out of their sockets one by one? Make your choice, Guts. This grows tiresome."

Zodd waved. Cordially.

Guts decided to snarl instead of growl, this time. "You obtuse bastard, you know what my 'choice' is, so just…go ahead and send me off already to make your fucking bed or whatever."

"Excellent. It's better for everyone that you proved so amenable to negotiation, don't you think? With your current temperament, it was impossible to be certain you wouldn't just do something idiotic and force me to kill you both. Ah, that reminds me! Before my guards let you come anywhere near me, they're going to have to take everything you're wearing to ensure you haven't got any concealed weapons. Your first command is to assist them any way you can; prove to me you can follow this and my next few orders, and Casca's free to go."

As Guts lifted his arms up to let some creepy tentacle things unlatch his armor and pull his tunic over his head, it suddenly started to hit him, all at once: he was just a few steps away from _finally _giving Casca something back after all the things she'd lost, because of him. Yeah, her safety and freedom was going to be the specter hanging over his head for the rest of his life, but as long as he didn't fuck this up, she WOULD be safe and free, freer than he could ever make her on his own. _To think it's Griffith of all people who's letting this happen... _Guts actually found himself grinning a little as a horde of claws slit the knots holding the multiple quivers of arrows and knives against his chest and back; if it weren't for the fact that Griffith was the betraying motherfucker who destroyed everything Guts ever cared about and was currently using the one good thing left in the world to force him to obey his whims, Guts might want to hug the eccentric son-of-a-bitch.

In a way, he thought dizzily as he lifted a leg and shook out the lances and spears he kept fastened inside his lower armor, it was a relief that Griffith was disallowing him access to any weapons, because he was basically taking away almost every temptation to fuck this up for Casca…all he'd have to do now was, what, bury his rage and hatred and loneliness and play castle with a mass murderer for the rest of his life? Guts could do that. There weren't even many things he could think of which would offend his sensibilities if he knew doing them meant Casca was happy. Hell, he'd become the royal latrine cleaner in a _heartbeat_ if it helped right that one most wrong of wrongs. For an evil soulless monster, he decided cheerfully, letting some weird bony hands slide off his pants so he was at last standing in nothing but a loincloth, Griffith sure didn't ask much. Maybe some of his villainry had thawed out over the years he'd spent back in their world? Worth considering.

He was getting ready to ask Griffith if he himself had noticed any..._soulful _feelings of late, any changes within himself of the not-completely-fucking-evil variety, when he realized that the king had started unlacing his own britches, and surely he didn't think Guts had managed to conceal any weapons in _his _pants? He also wasn't exactly looking at Guts the way a king should be looking at a lowly manservant..._Rather presumptuous of you_, Griffith had said...

That's when Guts realized what a fool he was to have forgotten, to have ever thought it could be otherwise: In the times they lived in, altruism _always_ came at a price.

This price would be particularly steep, from the looks of it.

Impossibly steep.

"Come here," said Griffith.

"Babble babble," said Casca.

The words of the Skull Knight rung in Guts' ears, and he knew what his choice really was, had been all along.

_Protect or fight._


	2. Chapter 2

**In this chapter: **Puck flies around aimlessly, Farnese and Schierke angst. Still no chapter-specific warnings to worry about.

Protect or Fight, part 2

"Maaaan, it sure is good to be home," said Puck to his old friend Theoditus, stretching his wings. "Haven't seen a familiar face in weeks, if you can believe it!"

"I didn't notice you were gone," said Puck's old friend Theoditus. "What's your name again?"

"Speaking of familiar faces," said Puck to his old friend Theoditus, "do you know where Evarella and the others are? I've been flying around on my own for ages, and I really miss my humans. Not that you can tell them that! 'Cause if I know my humans, finding out I missed them will give them the wrong idea and make them act even MORE high and mighty compared to us elves, and well, I guess they technically are higher and mightier than us, size-wise, but that's no excuse…being born big doesn't make a person special, yknow?"

"I don't know," said Puck's old friend Theoditus. "I mean, I don't know where Evarella and her humans are. At least not now. They left a few days ago, seemed real upset too…"

"LEFT?!" said Puck to his old friend Theoditus.

"…I guess because those other, horrible humans invaded last week and kidnapped their friend…"

"INVADED?!" said Puck to his old friend Theoditus. "KIDNAPPED?!"

"I was awful scared myself, to tell the truth," shivered Puck's old friend Theoditus. "They got in by using some terrible non-elfin magic, and if our spirit walls were any less sturdy I bet they would have let those big ugly monsters following them come in too, without even a 'please' or a 'may we have the honor of stomping our stupid big-winged big-horned demon guy feet all over your sacred home, oh venerable elves,' NOTHING. It's like proper etiquette has become a thing of the past. Sickening, isn't it? Hey, where'd you go? Yelling guy? Hello?"

Puck's old friend Theoditus shook his head sadly. Etiquette really HAD become a thing of the past, if even elves were happy to fly off in the middle of a conversation without so much as a farewell.

Meanwhile, Puck, already miles outside of Elfhelm, and having quickly forgotten all about his old friend Theoditus, was equally as dismayed by the turn for the impolite the world had taken. _Drat_, he cursed as he fluttered wildly up and down the countryside, searching for any sign of human, _drat, drat, drat! First Guts, now the rest of them…everyone keeps wandering off into danger without me! It's so irresponsible! There's no way Ishidoro will remember to do his swordfighting exercises without me there to remind him. And Evarella's probably acted like Queen Elf the whole time I was gone. I bet those guys are already sorry they left without me!_

Having thoroughly scoped out all the land that he could between Elfhelm and the ocean's shore, Puck miserably flapped his wings and set out flying over the water, back the way he'd just came. Back the long, long way to Midland.

_How am I ever supposed to find you again, Guts?_

* * *

"How are we ever supposed to find her again, Serpico?"

Farnese stabbed furiously at her broiled cod with one hand, using the other to direct a steady flow of energy into the swirl of air at the other end of the ship. Schierke was down there doing most of the work; she'd maintained its power since they first set sail, pushing and pulling the water alongside the ship to speed their voyage. Farnese would bring her a bowl of stew when she was finished with her own meal. That was all her master did these days: manipulate the sea and eat Serpico's stew. She didn't talk much. Or sleep.

Farnese knew how she felt.

Serpico squinted at her kindly. "Undoubtedly the witch's locating magic will be strong enough to get a read on Casca's whereabouts when we get closer to Midland. Since we won't know until we get there, though, all we can do for now is wait, and try not to think about it. Is there some way I can help my lady temporarily distract herself?"

"I don't want to distract myself, Serpico! And I don't want to wait. Guts is out there on his own somewhere, risking his life to defeat the man who hurt Casca, and he left me with one amazingly simple task to do: watch over her in his stead. And I failed."

"Well, my lady, I do recall him giving you that task back when Casca was incapable of watching over herself. Since that is no longer the case, I'd think your competence as her caretaker one way or another has very little to do with her current predicament - "

"Her current _predicament_? Damn it, Serpico, how can you be so fucking calm? She was taken away by a _monster_, one so strong we know he even survived facing off against _Guts._ We have no idea why she was taken or what they could possibly be doing to her _as we speak_, and you call it a _predicament?_ A _predicament?!_ When she might be…might be…"

Serpico put down his own plate and moved behind Farnese to touch her shoulder, but she hit him away violently, flinging fish everywhere.

"Don't coddle me, Serpico! Don't you fucking coddle me. And stop looking at me like that, like I'm the one who needs comfort. I'm not some fragile maid in danger of breaking, damn it!" The hand holding her knife tightened imperceptibly. "I just need to find Casca again. Once Casca's back with us, everything will be fine."

She was clenching her utensil so tightly now some of the energy she'd been conjuring to aid Schierke leapt into her fist, as if magnetized. "Casca…"

Steam started rising from the hilt.

The tip of the knife glowed red.

Farnese let out a low moan, but did not let go.

"Lady!"

"Farnese!" The ship lurched to the side fiercely, and suddenly Schierke was at her side as well, prising Farnese's fingers off the hot metal. "If you're going to let your emotions run so uncontrolled, you won't be of any use, magically."

"I'm-I'm sorry, master." Farnese, flushing with shame, realized that the energy streaking out of her left hand had spiraled out wildly and was probably what had thrown the entire ship off balance.

"There's really no reason to blame yourself, for what it's worth," Schierke murmured gently.

Farnese looked up with surprise.

"They were much stronger than us, you know? We couldn't have stopped them, probably not even if we'd prepared for their invasion. Besides, if anyone here's even a little to blame, it's me."

"What? Master, how can you -"

"I sensed the presence of Zodd and the others, coming towards Elfhelm, but I didn't think they meant us harm, so I didn't do anything about it. Maybe if I had we could have warded them off, at least long enough to try and get away."

"Master, that's absurd. You couldn't have known they were demons, or that they were King Griffith's soldiers. You couldn't have known they were coming for us, for Casca…could you?"

"I…I did know they were demons, and soldiers, Farnese." Schierke stared down at her feet, looking miserable and haunted. "I just didn't know they were the dangerous kind, or the kind working for Griffith. One of the humans, I sensed her more strongly than the rest, and she's someone I've met before. I thought she…I thought…Anyway, I misjudged her, terribly, and that miscalculation left us all in far more danger than we needed to be. I assure you it won't happen again."

"Master…"

"Don't blame yourself, Farnese." Schierke gave her a sad little smile, then scooped some stew into a bowl and walked back towards her perennial station at the ship's prow. "I'll work the water on my own the rest of the night; you focus on healing that hand."

Farnese stared after the hunched back of her master, suddenly looking so much less like a mage and so much more like a girl, for a long time. She didn't notice the warm presence that had never left her side, or the warm hand stroking soothing patterns into her hair, till the moon was high in the sky.

* * *

**Author's notes: **This will probably be the only update that comes this quickly - I'm usually a terrifically slow writer - because it's probably going to be the last update without any sex! :) I'm pretty nervous about writing the sex, even though that's my prime directive in writing this fic and everything. We'll see how it goes!

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**In this chapter: **Guts and Griffith get a little closer to the scene I actually need to be warning for. I swear, next chapter it'll happen, first thing! (Sorry for the super-slow update, also; I've been wibbling over the characterization in future chapters and got stalled because of that, but from now on I'll try to just keep writing even if I end up having to go back and change some things later.)

* * *

Guts wanted to think this through, he did. He had been completely prepared to do whatever it took to protect Casca, no matter the personal or physical cost, and he couldn't come up with a single rational reason why this should be different from any other bodily sacrifice; he really needed to either see this through or concoct an escape plan that had some real chance of success, and fast. But as Griffith stood there with his pants half undone (_no_) and the smug air of a hunter who was absolutely certain he could make his quarry crawl on the ground for him - and in a way (_no_), Guts had already agreed (_no_) to do exactly that, hadn't he? (_NO!_) - the only thing running in circles through his head was frantic, wretched denial. _No no no no no…_

His body ached with the desire to flee, to fight, to maim, to kill, to do anything to remove the terrific threat of the man standing in front of him and the thing he so clearly wanted, no, _expected_. But the sight of Casca, still muttering to herself and helpless ten feet over the ground, as if daring him and his egocentric cowardice to do something selfish - _go ahead and hurt me some more,_ those unfocused, glassy eyes seemed to say, _see if I even notice after all you two have already done _- sent such panic choking through Guts that he found himself quite unable to move.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, muscles tensed to the point of paralysis and breath clamoring in and out in great gasping bursts, but it was clearly too long for King Bastard's liking, because suddenly he was waving a bored hand in Casca's direction and an ugly claw-beast was flying forward and slicing her tunic down the front and her breasts were exposed, heaving and perfect and vulnerable and Guts was springing into action and balling his hand into a fist, ready to fight off all the ugly claw-beasts in the world but she was high above him, too high, and maybe he could use his knife to rappel up the demons he _could_ reach to get to her…? He groped for his blade and felt only hard skin and oh, right, he'd given up all his weapons to Griffith five minutes ago because…because…

Because.

"I admit, I did think you'd get a bit farther than one command before failing, Guts. I assumed you'd make it past at _least_ ten or eleven, on a bad day. You must be very disappointed in yourself. Ah well, nothing for it I suppose. Zodd?"

"Wait, Griff- "

"You can start with her fingers."

"Griffith!"

"Or her arms all at once if you're feeling impatient. I know I haven't let you feed in a few days."

"Stop, Griffith, I'll do it! You bastard, I'll do it. Anything you say. Just, don't…"

"Hmm? Now Guts, I'm not sure what gave you the impression that I'm someone who offers second chances, particularly to weak, worthless humans who are as inessential to me alive as dead, but your inability to meet even the most basic of demands is hardly inspiring me to reconsider my policy."

"If I'm so worthless and inessential why don't you just kill me and be done with it! Or better yet, let us both go! You've displayed your power damn convincingly, we wouldn't get in your way again. But doing this… threatening to hurt her to make me…to make me…why, Griffith? You're known far and wide as such a just ruler, yet this is the second time now that you've…you've...first her, and now me…do you really hate us so much?"

"All I've tried to 'make' you do so far is come over here, and you haven't even been able to manage that. I suppose if you still think Casca's imminent destruction is an idle threat, your monumentally foolish continued disobedience does make some _iota_ of sense."

Hating himself for trying to appeal to a human side he knew better than anyone didn't exist, gritting his teeth so hard he thought he felt something fracture, Guts stormed over to stand in front of Griffith. He comforted himself by ensuring that every drop of the murderous hatred he felt was being broadcast, loud and clear, in his expression as he glared down at the smaller man.

_"I'm. here."_

"Mmm, I see that."

Guts glared a glare that would make lesser resurrected-demon-gods tremble.  
_  
At least Zodd seems to be waiting for our little drama to play out before acting on psycho-boy's orders. That's a good sign. Probably means he IS just playing with me, and all that "no second chances" bullshit is just that. Long as he doesn't get bored, Casca'll be okay for now._

The seconds ticked by.

Zodd looked at Griffith hopefully.

Griffith looked at Guts coolly.

…Guts glared a glare that told stories, stories of exactly what he'd be doing to Griffith, for how much and how long, if he should happen across so much as a goddamn twig.

They panted some more into each other's faces - or, well, Guts panted and Griffith breathed evenly and imperturbably - and then Griffith tilted his head to the side as if he'd just realized something interesting.

Guts had a feeling it would be anything but. He cracked his neck and waited boredly for another villainous monologue.

It didn't take long.

"I misspoke earlier."

Guts grunted.

"I do sometimes give second chances."

Guts scratched his ear.

"Those who appear to have some trace of future usefulness: to them I will occasionally grant pardons, even after they've betrayed an agreement. The illusion of mercy actually works as an excellent incentive, I've found."

Guts yawned.

"Of course, you are not someone to whom this exception would ever apply. The hounds for the annual fox hunt are worth more than you, you must understand."

Guts scratched his other ear. _Tell me something I don't know, buddy._ Worth something? To Griffith? The bastard had shot that one outta the coliseum a long time ago.

"It occurs to me, however, that I might enjoy seeing you try to prove me wrong in spite of this." Griffith gave a short nod. "Yes, I really do think I'd enjoy seeing you try to prove your worth, Guts."

Guts rolled his eyes. "And why would I bother doing something like that?"

"To earn a second chance, and give Casca the ability to live her next day in freedom."

"But I'll never succeed, because I'm worth nothing, ain't that right?"

Griffith smiled brightly.

"Oh, you understand quite well, I see!"

"So why the fuck do you think I'm gonna-"

"Nonetheless, there's always the chance that your tongue's worth something, even if the rest of you isn't. A possibility worth exploring, wouldn't you say?"

…Guts choked. Why the fuck couldn't Griffith just come out and make demands like any normal powerdrunk psychopath? He was so sick of this headtrip shit. "My tongue."

"Yes, your tongue. If your tongue can demonstrate the remotest sort of practical ability, perhaps I'll reconsider giving up on our negotiations wholesale."

So, so sick of it. Sick of how Griffith had stood here for however long twisting Guts around his finger, for kicks, when what he wanted had been obvious from the very beginning. Sick of the implacably empty expression on that beatific, hated face. Sick of the long-buried images that had been playing on repeat since Griffith first unlaced his pants, terrifying images of a gigantic, intractable body holding him helpless and open, humiliating images of weakness and violation and so, so much pain.

Most of all Guts was sick of the desperation, of the way he'd actually let himself for a second believe that Griffith might be proposing something different, something less unthinkable. He was sick of all of it, so goddamned sick and tense and tired, and maybe because of that and maybe because of the way Griffith's blank expression hinged on smug, suddenly the disgust and despair and devastation were all being submerged beneath a tidal wave of exasperated, body-quaking fury.

"For fuck's sake, Griffith! Are you telling me to suck your cock? Because if you're telling me to suck your cock, you better come out and fucking SAY IT ALREADY, before I assume the talent you want my 'tongue' to 'demonstrate' is the talent of spitting in your smug goddamned face. Get this the FUCK over with and STOP PLAYING WITH ME."

"My, my, so uncouth. Let's put it this way: if you, worthless, petty human that you are, can use your mouth to pleasure me to completion, I'll overlook your earlier infraction. If you can't, the last thing Casca ever sees will be you on your knees in front of me, lapping at my prick like the cur you are."

Suddenly Guts wished he hadn't pushed Griffith to go the direct route after all; any bravado his anger unleashed was drained the instant he thought about Griffith's dick coming anywhere near his face.

At his undoubtedly terrified expression, Griffith laughed quietly, and that was when it hit Guts: the emptiness in his eyes might have not once faltered, but the bastard was definitely enjoying this. The more obvious Guts made it that this was the worst thing Griffith possibly could have demanded, the more satisfaction the asshole would probably get out of the whole experience.

No, Guts had to play it like it didn't bother him. Either Griffith would decide his non-reaction was boring and decide to just torture him after all (he felt pretty pathetic for wishing for torture, but that was something he knew he could stand, and this wasn't), or he'd at least have denied the fucker SOME of his cheap thrills.

Of course, there was the small problem that Guts didn't know what the fuck he was doing, and attempting to think about it made his fucking knees shake, but hey. All he could do was try.

"Alright, Griffith." Guts made sure his grin was pure concentrated I-don't-give-a-fuck. "Let's get this over with. I swear, though, if you think you can get away with double-crossing me…if you give Casca so much as another scrape…you'll be dead before your fucking cronies can flap their wings." It was an empty threat - if Griffith decided to kill both of them before the night was out, there was very little Guts could do about it; he was trying not to think about that, though. Besides, the more empty bravado he conjured up the more normal he felt.

"Double-crossing you? In order for me to do that you'd first have to succeed at _your _task. Are you really good enough at sucking cock to merit such arrogance, Guts?"

Guts kept his game face on. No way was he gonna let Griffith know just how much every reminder of what he was about to do nauseated him to his core. "That's for me to know and you to find out, ain't it?"

Griffith turned up one corner of his mouth, as if allowing himself to be amused. "Very well then. Hurry up and prove to me your self-confidence is not misplaced, before I assume you're simply trying to stall for time and get tired of waiting."

"Jeez, you sure are impatient, huh? Never thought you'd have this much trouble finding a bedmate, gotta say. I mean, you've got an entire nation at your beck and call; Midland just not turning out the pretty boys like it used to?"

"I know you're not naïve enough to think this is about simple sexual gratification, Guts," oooh, Griffith sounded _pissed_ (in a distant, maybe-I'm-just-imagining-it emotionless demon kind of way)!, "so stop wasting my time. Kneel."

Using the feeling of being ever-so-slightly-victorious to mute the horror sweeping through him anew, Guts knelt.

"Begin."

Guts licked his lips, repressed with gargantuan effort the desire to quiver like a little fucking kid, and crawled forward.

* * *

Next time, I stop teasing! And we learn why the heck Griffith, Mr. Unfeeling I'm-so-much-better-than-you-petty-humans Guy, is doing something so...pettily human.

Well, we sort of learn at least. Also, I promise the rest of the cast will get a few chapters all to themselves after that, because I really want to divide the screentime evenly across the board. :)

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**In this chapter: **Porn. Angst. Awkward awkward sentence construction. And some unconscious soul-spilling on the part of one soulless demon-god.

* * *

  
The firm belief that he was denying Griffith some scrap of pleasure every time he convincingly disguised his inner turmoil was all that kept Guts on his knees over the next few minutes.

Because when he reached up to fully expose Griffith's…to fully expose Griffith, and Griffith slapped his hand away and murmured "no, Guts, remember? You're only to use your tongue for this," it was all Guts could do to stay put, let alone stay "obedient". No matter how forcefully he reminded himself of the futility of trying to fight off every fucker in the room to get Casca and get the hell out, by that point the escape fantasies skittering temptingly through his mind were clouding out all rational thought.

But it_ was _futile - even if Guts somehow managed to onehandedly, bare-assedly slaughter every monster around him before any of them killed Casca, even if he successfully rescued her and miraculously got them both out in one piece, Griffith would just send more apostle guys after them; they'd never stop coming, never, and Guts could keep on fending them off like he'd been doing, but he was so goddamn tired. If he knew Casca had been able to find real peace, real freedom, wouldn't that be enough to give in, to stop fighting, albeit if the stakes had changed and it no longer meant an eternity in hell but an eternity of, of..._this? _The answer was unequivocally "yes", of course; it was enough, it was enough and horrifyingly inconceivable as it was he was going to do this, damn it, he_ was_. But knowing something in your head and knowing something in your body are two very different things, and reminding himself over and over again of just how much he needed to do this wasn't enough to get his shoulders to stop shaking. Thinking about Casca being happy wouldn't, couldn't force his head down into the dark open place inside Griffith's britches.

But thinking about the motherfucker waiting with that supercilious patience for Guts to cry his fucking eyes out with fear and humiliation, and instead getting forced to stand there like an idiot while Guts swallowed his cock as boredly as he'd swallow anything else? Now THAT was enough to make the trembling to subside, to get Guts to shove his face into the asshole's pants with boldness, heck, with _relish._

That was enough for Guts to temporarily fool himself into feeling strong again.

* * *

Unfortunately, Guts was quickly forced to acknowledge the fundamental flaw in using the belief that you're denying someone pleasure to get yourself to, well, pleasure them.

He had planned to make quick work of this, to get Getting Griffith Off over with as swiftly as possible, and accordingly, he really did put his best lip forward, so to speak, in attending to His Royal Bastard.

He had no idea how to go about it, of course, but he figured one unimpeachable method was to simply attempt to do to Griffith the sorts of things he remembered women doing to him; he had a vague sense of how things worked...down there...right? All he had to do was apply this experience to Griffith, and ignore the fact that it_ was _Griffith he was doing this to - as well as the unpleasant odor of another man filling his nostrils, the uncomfortable size of another man pressing against his cheeks, the unsavory sensation of another man's precum trickling down his throat, and oh yeah, the unbearable knowledge that hundreds of that man's henchdemons (not to mention _Casca_ of everyone on the fucking planet) were flying around watching his excruciating debasement - and this should be over in no time.

Fortunately enough, Guts proved quite the masterful ignorer after all (perhaps because he would be at a rather impossible loss any other way). He spent the next several minutes licking up and down Griffith's shaft, wrapping his lips around the other man's length and sucking, tonguing his balls and his head and his foreskin, and basically trying everything he could think of to get Griffith's cock to move from what could barely be called half-hard to a slightly more engorged state. To his disbelief, none of that appeared to have any effect on the other man. Guts finally managed to elicit one real flicker of interest only when, in his frustrated distraction, he started to choke on Griffith so violently his eye teared a little.

That was when Guts realized he wasn't going to get out of this without showing _some_ inner turmoil.

Griffith's facial expression had still never shifted in the slightest, of course. But his prick was apparently perfectly happy to show its appreciation for Guts' misery, and since Griffith's prick was the thing Guts actually needed to induce a reaction in, misery was what he'd have to give the sadistic fucker if he wanted to get this the hell over with.

Letting Griffith see his pain was different from letting Griffith see his fear, though. Guts realized with some relief that he could compromise and get through this by showing Griffith all the meaningless physical discomfort he could possibly want, and still keep any outward signs of his real emotional torment to himself.

And that was how Guts found himself between the legs of the man he hated most in all the world, gagging and retching on his cock, on _purpose_, deliberately letting it hit the back of his throat, intentionally allowing the tears of pain pricking at the corner of his eye to drip down his face.

Guts had never felt so thoroughly degraded in his entire life.

Mortification and despair made for a dangerous combination, too; suddenly all Guts could think about was tearing the man in front of him limb from limb.

But it was working.

Guts' head swam with fury, his cheeks burned with humiliation, his thoughts ran red with blood. And Griffith's cock grew stiffer, thicker against his tongue.

It was working.

If Guts let his mind slip out of focus for even one moment, the claustrophobic levels of hatred and rage hammering at every corner of his consciousness threatened to unleash forces inside him he knew would swallow him up forever. It was all he could do to concentrate on the sickening task at hand, to blink away heady images of Griffith with his skull shattered, with his bones crushed, with his flesh pummeled into putty. All he could do to dutifully choke and gag and swallow, and pretend the only pain he felt was physical.

But it was working.

It was working, and when Griffith's steady breathing quickened and then slowed into a single, almost imperceptible gasp, Guts knew it was finally over. He pushed his face all the way forward on Griffith's cock one last time, retching painfully, then eased off it as it tightened and spasmed against his lips. It wasn't fully out of Guts' mouth before it was shooting strands of white all over his tongue and face.

As the sticky mess cooled on his skin, Guts wondered, with a numb curiosity, if the way Griffith's eyes had fluttered shut and his cheeks reddened before that final moment could make this some kind of triumph.

Instead of such a wretched, wretched loss.

* * *

Griffith stroked his fingers through the splattered semen on Guts' face, rubbing it into his cheeks and forehead. He was casually directing his minions around - Casca was on solid ground now, and her shirt had already been replaced - and Guts hated himself for it, but he was too afraid of getting in the way of her freedom to protest the humiliating treatment. He wouldn't fucking blink without being told, not till Casca was out of the line of fire, and it didn't matter how pathetic that made him; Griffith was a capricious motherfucker and Guts was doing what was necessary.

_That's it, console yourself while you still can, buddy..._ He shivered with self-disgust.

"You asked if I hated you," Griffith murmured, as he waved the majority of his demons out of the room. "I don't hate you, Guts. Why should I hate you? You are an obsolete part of my destiny, who played his role and now no longer has one. I don't feel anything at all for you."

"Then why the fuck are you doing this, you psychotic shithead?! How the fuck can you -"

"Shh, Guts. Don't interrupt, it's rude."

Guts wasn't interested in finding out if that was an order or not. Let Griffith make his little speech. Casca was almost out of this hellhole, and that was what counted.

"No, the reason I'm doing this has nothing to do with hatred. It is, to the contrary, all a matter of pleasure."

Guts shook with infuriated disgust. So King Griffith was desperate for a bedmate after all, and naturally the only solution he could think of was kidnapping the two people he'd already wronged beyond imagining to satisfy his sick urges...

"Not something so cheap and human as sexual pleasure, as you assumed earlier." Guts made sure to display his incredible skepticism as clearly, if soundlessly, as possible. "No, Guts, it's very simple: Your suffering brings me pleasure, and sex is one extraordinarily efficient method of inducing this."

Griffith smoothed a sticky hand through Guts's hair, like he was a fucking dog or something, and Guts was sure the throbbing vein in his temple would soon explode with the rest of him.

"Yeah, Griffith, so you're a sadist, hurting people turns you on, what a shocker. My eyes are popping out of their sockets right now, seriously. And hey, know what else? All of that's about as cheap and human as it comes. You pompous fucking _hypocrite_."

Griffith stared at him for a moment, and, humiliatingly, Guts broke into an uneasy sweat. He could work as hard as he liked to deny Griffith any visible sign of fear, but it was getting increasingly impossible to pretend in his own head that he was anything but cowed and conquered. If he had fucked up just now…if it was all for nothing, if Casca ended up hurt and he ended up having to live with that…or die with that…Guts was suddenly tempted to throw himself Griffith's feet and apologize. For…not shutting up when told. _And the self-disgust, it grows._

Luckily, the stare evidently proved to be a "I shall not dignify your worthless human mutterings with a response" stare, and not a "I am presently determining the most effective way to torture you and your beloved, o he that has transgressed against Me" stare, because Griffith simply blinked then and continued monologuing.

"Hurting people does not turn me on, Guts; know this. I feel nothing for 'people', and I feel nothing for you, and the only aspect of this situation I find so satisfying as to be sexually arousing is that single fact alone. Human suffering no longer affects me; most invigorating of all, _your_ suffering does not affect me. I don't expect you to understand why this is such a powerful and affirming experience, for you are still bound by human thoughts and emotions, but suffice to say it is the very act of _not_ registering your pain on anything but an intellectual level that stirs my blood. Sadism is for mortals; as a god, I have been liberated to exist in the negative space of such emotions." Griffith smiled beatifically, as if he'd just explained some essential truth and not the single most psychotic, unhinged, backwards-ass thing Guts had ever fucking heard.

There was something in Griffith's words, though, deranged as they were, that struck Guts as important, as saying more than the demonic fuck probably intended. He tried to think about it as Griffith, after instructing him to stay in place and _damn_ were his knees starting to ache, moved to the entranceway of the room and had a brief conversation with a wide-eyed girl far too young to be caught up with the likes of him (though as she continually peered over Griffith's shoulder to stare at Guts without any trace of the unfamiliarity or discomfort that should accompany seeing a grown man naked and on his knees, Guts wondered how young she could possibly be), but Griffith's outrageous circular logic was making his thoughts run over each other in endless figure-eights, and Guts gave up thinking for now.

"Well, Guts. Congratulations. You've managed to successfully live out your new purpose long enough to get Casca sent home. Come. You may stand if you like and follow me to yours."

Idly as Guts rose he considered with bitter amusement how different a little sexual gratification (or non-sexual non-gratification by Griffith's description) made King Fuckface; he'd gone from giving Guts condescending non-orders and telling him he was worth nothing to treating him like some prized royal pet worth explaining himself to, all in the span of one blowjob. _Looks like sex is the great equalizer after all. Demon-gods, humans, nobody's invulnerable to the power of a fucking orgasm.  
_  
Guts followed the back of the man he hated with a passion more intense than any orgasm, naked, through the halls of the palace he'd built on the bodies of the Hawks, and was just glad he'd found something else to hold onto in this great oasis of nothing.

* * *

I'm so sorry that took me so long. I'm not sure how obvious it is (I don't know if the writing is as obviously awkward and sub-par to anyone but me) but I really struggled with this chapter. As much as I know what turns me on, kink-wise, and where I want to take this story pornishly, I have to fight a lot of awkwardness and embarrassment to actually write it all out in words. But now that I've crossed the hurdle that is Publishing Porn On The Internet, I'm hoping the rest of this will go a lot smoother! I can't promise super-fast updates because I've got some other things I need to finish writing before December is through (some of them are Berserk things, which I'll definitely publish here when I'm done) but I can promise it won't take me six months after this. Haha :)

When we return: Casca comes home, Sonia vs. Schierke! Hooray.


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